STAR WARS: A Rising Tide
by QuackPower
Summary: The First Order reigns. After the Battle of Crait Supreme Leader Kylo Ren exerts his dominion over the galaxy, expanding his military forces by the day. General Leia Organa has sent her remaining pilots to recruit allies in the planets of the Outer Rim of the galaxy, but misfortune hits again, when the best among them, Poe Dameron, disappears in strange circumstances….
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hey guys! Welcome, I hope the stay is long and prosper. This is just starting but here you have the first two chapters. Just to clarify a few things, please read!:  
1) I'm not into the Stormpilot ship. Like I always say I respect all the ships, but I don't necessarily share them. I see the movies and read the novels and comics and I really don't see it. You do? That's great too!**

 **2) I like to portray the characters as _in_ character as possible. This is not an AU, so coming from my perceptions on the source material _(refer to point 1)_ this won't be a Stormpilot story. Also Poe won't be all flirty and romantic all of the sudden. And his X-Wing won't magically fit a second passenger.**

 **3) For my OC's and their stories I'll use a mix of canon and legends. I LOVE legends, there's so much potential there and I want to use it (I also want the people who make the movies to use it!).**

 **4) My OC won't be Luke's daughter, she won't be Ben's sister either. No disrespect for those stories, I've read and loved a bunch of them, but I thought I'd give her a different take, make this more about _her_.**

 **5) Slow burn. No that love at first sight crap.**

 **6) This happens right after TLJ, but in a short span of time, so I can work on it and adapt it to the next movie. Obviously I'll take liberties with the story and there'll be spoilers for the movies. Also rated M for cursing and future lemons.**

 **And that's all for now I think. English is not my mother language, I review for typos and try to write slowly and fitting a minimum standard, but any constructive criticism and pointers are welcome. Don't be a stranger!**

 **PS: I LOVED TLJ. Anyone else? =P**

* * *

 _A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away..._

 _The FIRST ORDER reigns. After the Battle of Crait Supreme Leader Kylo Ren exerts his dominion over the galaxy, expanding his military forces by the day. With the RESISTANCE in scarce numbers no one dares to stand in his way. No one but General Leia Organa. She has sent her remaining pilots to recruit allies in the planets of the Outer Rim of the galaxy, but misfortune hits again, when the best among them, Poe Dameron, disappears in strange circumstances…._

* * *

A feminine silhouette danced to the rhythm of very well practiced moves over the edge of a cliff, thin tendrils of air falling from her messy bun and sticking to her sweaty neck, the soft humming of a lightsaber her only companion. The coral hue of its white blade illuminating her glistening skin. She swung and twirled. Back and forth. Controlling masterfully her already ragged breath. For how long had she been training today? She had no idea. It happened in this place. You didn't lose track of time, time simply had no meaning. What felt like yesterday for her could be last month for the galaxy where she was born as far as she knew. How long since she last entered the cave under the Monastery? That place of legend she never believed to really exist. She meditated, she trusted the Force to guide her in the darkness, and for what?

 _"If you ever find yourselves in Mortis, look for the Altar. It's in a cave, under the Monastery. Once you reach the Altar, it will give you what you need, if you give something in return."_

Those were Master Luke words, one of those few times when she actually listened to him, during their history lessons. She loved learning about past times, civilizations, alliances, wars and legends. Most of her fellow students discarded those legends quickly as Jedi tales. But she didn't. After all, the Jedi and the Force were long lost legends for a time too, until Luke found Obi Wan and Yoda. All her schoolfellows wanted was to spar with training lightsabers and battle droids, while she'd rather travel, with her body and her mind, visit exotic places, meet new and exciting people, learn new languages… The Jedi lifestyle wasn't for her. She didn't agree with their philosophy to begin with.

She still didn't. And yet, here she was: practicing with her finally assembled lightsaber. Stranded and full of regret. If only she had listened. Maybe… just maybe…

She swung wildly one last time, and the pent up frustration dragged a vicious scream from her very core. Startled by the sound of her own voice- the one she didn't use for so long- she let go of the saber, its plasma blade disappearing mid-air, and the metallic hilt hitting the ground with a thud, followed by a second thud when her knees gave up beneath her.

Why? Why was she still here? Why was the Altar empty? She left the safety of her ship at night, when Mortis was most dangerous. She made her way to the damned cave, up and down the steep hills that surrounded the ancient temple-like stone building where the Father used to reside. Then she climbed all the way down rocky slippery stairs, ignoring the urge to run back to her room in the freighter, ignoring her fear of the dark, ignoring the call of that side of the force. That was her sacrifice, her offering to Mortis. She was giving up her worst fear, the one she was born with. She had never dared to pee at night without her goggles, but there she was, walking blindly into the darkest pit of Mortis. And doing so with confidence. Right until she crossed the green flames and found the stony surface of the Altar empty. In one last moment of stupidity she put her hands on it, almost expecting to find with her sense of touch the solid presence of something her limited sight couldn't detect. But as she already knew, there was no such thing. Yes, as Master Luke used to tell her, her eyes could deceive her, but not so much the Force. That night she walked back to the freighter, blind, disappointed and not paying attention to her surroundings, almost hoping a rathtar would jump her and end her suffering. It didn't happen, and since then she'd held a suicide pill from the emergency kit on the palm of her hand very often, thinking maybe it was time to use it. But she never did. She would put it back in its unit and go about her day. Her lame ass day. Doing maintenance on the freighter, hunting something to eat later, meditating, training… She seemed unable to give up hope. Or maybe she was a coward like that.

* * *

A sad chirping sound came through the cockpit's com, waking him up from his lethargic state.

"Only happy beeps, buddy. Only happy beeps…"

A drop of sweat slid down his hairline and soaked his left eyebrow making it tickle. He wanted to scratch it but he couldn't find the strength to do so. He tried to focus his eyes on the x-wing's flight computer to no avail. He couldn't' tell how long ago his systems had failed. No, not failed. They just went completely off. BB-8 couldn't find a reason why, and neither could he. They tried everything, but the x-wing was locked in some kind of autopilot route. Route to nowhere, because according to his loyal astromech droid, they were in the wild regions of the galaxy.

Wild Space. The unmapped expanse beyond the Outer Rim.

The Resistance was in scarce numbers, so the mission now was to recruit, and with the First Order on their tail the systems of the Outer Rim where the safest bet. But not for him, apparently.

He was tired, thirsty and hungry. The cockpit's life support was dead, his FreiTek life support unit was dead, he was suffocating, he had peed himself and thank Kriff his calorie intake consisted mostly of bars and pills because it was bad enough to die on a puddle of your own. A part of him wished he hadn't wasted so much oxygen trying to get a hold of someone through the subspace com when he already knew it wasn't working either. All his training couldn't have prepared him for a situation like this. It was a countdown to death. He just didn't know how much time he had left.

More chirping. And this time it sounded tired.

"No… Don't leave me, buddy. Please don't leave me…" – He managed to get out between short intakes of rancid air.

No answer came from the back of the starfighter, and he knew the astromech was gone for good, his drive depleted. He was going to die alone. He was going to suffocate inside that substitute cockpit. It wasn't even his Black One, the one that Kylo Ren blew up. For a while now he thought he'd die fighting for the cause inside the custom black x-wing. Go figure… He'd be pissed at fate if he could find the strength, but just keeping consciousness was difficult enough as it was, and he was slipping between realms again. Yet, the idea of dying wasn't what really bothered him, he was ready to die the very day he decided to be a pilot, whenever that was… But, would they know? His colleagues, his friends, his General. His father. Oh, Kriff, his father… He owed him a visit he never paid. Sure, they hadn't seen each other for a while, but they talked, they knew about each other's whereabouts. His thoughts wandered to his mom. Her passing had taken its toll on them, and now he was going to do the same to his dad. How long would they look for him before they gave up? Were they looking for him already? Were they trying as much as he had tried? Would they give him a funeral? One with an empty coffin? And what would be of his body? How much longer after his death would he travel in this x-winged improvised coffin until sheer chance and gravity propelled it into some planet's atmosphere? Or would it be an asteroid? A star? He envisioned debris and bones in a dessert, covered by sand over the years. He also saw the x-wing impacting against the hard surface of an ocean, water filling the cockpit, sinking deep, sea creatures swimming away in fear and then approaching the scene with curiosity…

Would he see his mom again, in the Force or whatever? Who was he kidding, the Force wasn't with him… Not this time…

He was choking now. This was it. He couldn't ration his oxygen intake in small sips anymore. His body was fighting for it, convulsing, looking for a remedy against the poisonous gases that saturated his bloodstream. It wasn't an easy way to go. It hurt. It hurt like nothing had ever hurt. As his eyelids closed ever slightly and his vision blurred he thought he saw something appear in the distance, right in the way of the starfighter, like a dark geometric structure etched with red lines. He didn't have time think about it before everything went black.

* * *

She started walking her way back to the freighter, putting the last two pieces of fruit she picked up on the way inside her backpack. Maybe she would open that namana wine bottles that were catching dust in the freighter's galley tonight. She felt like getting drunk. She strolled down the hill, paying some mind to the floor, making sure her feet didn't slip on loose gravel. Light blinded her suddenly, like a beacon's light passing over her. She looked up, searching for the source, and gasped. The glowing crystal floating over the pinnacle of the Monastery casting daylight all over Mortis, acting like a sun in the morning, and a moon in the night, was opening. And doing so it was becoming black and red, as the monolith turned from shiny crystal to dark metal. She hurried down the hill, running, not even thinking about it. She could swear she still had time before the night, she could swear this was too sudden and odd. But who cares, Mortis was no place for a late stroll under the stars. The grating sound of metal scrapping over metal made the place shake, and she stopped to cover her ears in pain. The realm was engulfed by total darkness just for one second, and then the light returned hitting her like a rubber band. Literally hitting her. Leaving her laying over the oblique surface of the hill. Pointy pieces of gravel punctured her hands as she tried to get up, blinking away the pain in her eyes. She staggered a few steps and leaned over a big protuberance on the rock. She stayed there a few seconds, blinking away the dots. As she raised her eyes again what she saw froze her in place. An x-wing was flying over the valley, she thought it was about to land, as it was losing altitude very slowly, but then realized what was going to happen: that starfighter was about to crash. The nose was too low for a safe landing, and its backside was starting to twirl to the left. Before long it would spin out of control and disappear under the river's surface. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, looking for someone inside the cockpit. There was someone, but she recognized that static feeling. The pilot was unconscious.

She run down a few extra meters in the same direction the starfighter was headed, her blood pumping with thrilling emotions she had forgotten: excitement and expectation. This could be her ticket out of this place. This could be the opportunity she was waiting for.

She planted her feet firmly on the ground and extended her arms in front of her, palms up, feeling for an invisible rope that connected her to the x-wing. Just like the Force connects everything. It was there, that part was easy. Now she just had to be strong enough pull from it and stop the starfighter, at least enough to soften the blow. She was suddenly reminded of how big x-wings really were. They looked small in battle, thousands of feet up in the air, but they were actually twelve meters long. The moment she grabbed onto it, its ten metric tons of mass dragged her along the river's shore. She sunk her heels deeper on the ground, sending pebbles in all directions and leaving a trail on the mud. She gritted her teeth, her fingers opening wide and curling with the extra effort. Face turning red, veins popping out on her neck. She held her breath and willed the Force to help her. And the Force answered her prayers. She was doing it. The x-wing's movement was slowing, and so was hers. She grounded her feet more firmly with a final display of strength and stopped it altogether. She exhaled the exertion out, and walked closer to the shore, her arms and hands still spread. The x-wing was hovering over the other side of the river, but it'd do. She turned it slightly to the right and lowered it so very slowly to the ground. Her arms trembled the last few feet, but she managed. She shook her limbs off, but didn't give herself a second to rest. Someone could die in that second.

She crossed the river jumping over scattered rocks. As soon as she made it to the other side she swatted her right hand and the canopy was ripped from its hinges. With the belly of the starfighter directly on the floor it was easy for her to reach the cockpit extending her arms over her head and pull herself up. The first thing she registered was the smell. She held onto the edge of the cockpit with one hand and covered her mouth and nose with the other, leaning away from the stink. It smelled like the unventilated bedroom of a sweaty teenager and piss. Only in this case the sweat and piss was that of the adult man lying limply inside the cockpit, which made it even worse. She looked again, holding an arm over her face and breathing through her mouth. Whoever he was, whatever he was doing in this place, he was with the Resistance. If the interstellar orange of his flight suit wasn't indicative enough of his allegiance, the rebel starbird at the front of the helmet laying on his lap left no room for doubt. She quickly put two fingers under his nose and then over his carotid artery, worried about the unnatural greyish color of his skin. He was breathing and she found a pulse, but she didn't relax immediately. She checked the life support system on the starfighter and his flight suit, and as she already suspected they were dead. The front of his orange uniform was slightly opened and he'd been clearly pulling at the collar of his undershirt. He had barely made it alive. Now the newfound fresh air of Mortis should help, but she couldn't know for sure. Oxygen deficiency could have caused damage to the brain or any other organ or tissue. She'd need to put him under observation in the freighter's med bay to know.

She looked around trying to decide what to do next and her eyes landed for the first time on the astromech droid inside the socket behind the x-wing's cockpit. It was a BB-Unit, that much she knew, but a BB-Unit like none she'd seen before. This one had a sleeker design, more refined, and a very particular choice of colors. Like the ones on his owner's flying helmet. In her experience there were two types of rebel pilots: the no-nonsense type, who didn't go above and beyond to decorate their helmets, save for the standard insignias; and the type that carved out their stories of heroism and camaraderie in ink, paint, and blood in said helmets. Sometimes it simply consisted on writing their own names and changing the starbird's color to indicate their loyalties, other times the helmets were completely customized, like this one. She dropped the black helmet to the floor behind her as she flipped the correct switch in the flight console to take the droid out its socket. In her peripheral vision she saw it come up and roll towards the left side of the starfighter, were she was perched, falling to the ground too, as she unstrapped the pilot. She leaned inside the cockpit, reaching behind his back to take off his flight vest. She took another moment to make sure the guy was still breathing and she wasn't just fumbling with a dead body. Which she wasn't, _phew_ …

She looked over her shoulder to the gravel ground to make sure she wouldn't break her neck with a rock. There was only one way she was taking that guy out of there… She adjusted him on the seat so he was looking in the same direction as her, his back to her chest, and without thinking it twice she passed her arms under his armpits, intertwining her fingers over his chest, and pulled forcefully, using her body's weight and gravity to her advantage.

"Oomph!" – She groaned when the pilot's dead weight knocked the air out of her.

On her feet once again, she looked up and around, asking herself if there was enough time left for what needed to be done. In Mortis time had no meaning, but despite not being able to count the hours, somehow, with enough time to adjust, your biological clock knows when it's time to sleep. And hers knew it was already late. Luckily the freighter wasn't that far away.

* * *

She drove around the freighter's corridor on the hoversled, going directly for the med bay, as the boarding ramp closed behind them. They were just in time. She made a run to the ship to get the hoversled she used to get cargo on board, so she could take _this_ cargo on board. She only wished the guy had crashed on Mortis earlier in the morning, when she was fresh out of bed, and not this tired. She dragged him onto the rectangular plate in the middle of the room and immediately the treatment table came off the floor activated by the pressure. She pushed a button in the panel and a light scan appeared on one of the ends of the table. She put her hand over it and dragged it all the way to the other end to get a full scan. It would only take a few seconds. Meanwhile she plugged the droid to the wall. They always stored data, there could be something important in there, or the BB-Unit could tell her what happened if the guy didn't wake up soon. If he woke up at all…

Just as the thought crossed her mind the scan finished with a double _beep_ and she hurried to check the results. No tissue damage. No damaged organs either. Just plain and expected hypoxia. He just needed to rest and breath.

She exhaled loudly, finally allowing herself to relax resting her hands on the side of the table and closing her eyes. Before she could think what she should do next the foul smell on the guy hit her again. It wasn't the first time she brought something stinky on board, but this time she wasn't getting paid for it. She didn't particularly like the idea of giving a complete stranger a sponge bath, but she favored the alternative even less. So the sooner the better.

She took off her own sleeves and started working. First she took care of his boots and socks, belt and flight harness. Once all those things were out of the way she worked on the orange flight suit, pulling at the front velcros and working her way around the pilot's shoulders and behind his back, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and tugging the rest down his legs. Something fell off one of the pockets with a clank. She bent over to pick it up. It was the Resistance insignia of a Commander of their army. Confused she fumbled with the stinky orange suit in her hands. She could swear she saw another insignia in the front, where it should be attached. And yes, there it was, he was a Captain. She didn't lose time thinking about it and simply set the two metallic pieces aside. Her arms were still shaking lightly and sliding the orange piece of cloth under his hips was a bigger struggle than expected. Finally, she stripped him of his tight-weave cotton t-shirt, putting his arms back on the table when they fell off. She hooked her fingers over the waist of the same grey material pants and stopped short. Deciding it was better just to do it all in one go, like ripping a band aid stuck on body hair –not that she knew what it feels like, she didn't have body hair-, she hooked her fingers over the waist of his boxers too, and tugged. When it all came off she immediately threw a towel over his hips and disposed of his stinky uniform, putting it all inside a plastic sealed bag and throwing it on the floor to clean the next day.

She produced another clean towel and a metallic bowl from the cupboards above the sink. She filled the bowl with lukewarm water and took a seat on a stool with wheels next to the unconscious rebel. She started on the face, dipping the towel in the water, wringing out the excess and scrubbing his skin, starting on the forehead and going down his temples and his neck, all the way to his chest. She made sure to brush every crevice, because she figured even in his actual state he would appreciate a fresh face. She wouldn't be as thorough with the rest of his body, that would be creepy. She rinsed the towel three more times and made a quick pass over his torso, arms and legs. The stench was under control now, and he could wash when he woke up. She activated the restraints of the treatment table and two wide straps locked down his shoulders and hips. She considered using the handcuffs too, but decided against it. Waking up in handcuffs didn't make for a good first impression. She learned that when she woke up handcuffed, hanging over the edge of Cloud City and surrounded by Sando's boys. She smiled bitterly at the memory. Han was so pissed, but also so proud. And now, if she was right about the little pit in her chest, he was dead. And if she was right about _the other_ pit in her chest, Luke was dead too. She breathed deeply as she connected an IV to the naked resistance pilot right arm and activated the glass cocoon that would take care of him for the night. Her thoughts went to Leia. How was she holding? Both events happened in rapid succession. It must have been difficult, even for her and her stone cold façade. She had tried reaching out, concentrating in the bright light that Leia Organa always projected throughout the Force. But there was no reaching out from Mortis.

With one last look to the panel to make sure the temperature and oxygen levels were correct she decided to try and get a night's sleep.

 **That was it for now! Did you like it! How much do you know about Mortis? Let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

She turned around in her cot, rolling her shoulders and stretching her legs to work on the kinks. The nights were so cold in Mortis… In the beginning she had trouble even trying to sleep. Now she slept no problem, but she could feel the cold that had creeped inside her body stiffing her joints and muscles. She blinked the grogginess and the dots away and was startled by the unfamiliar presence that was peeking through her door. Finally recognizing the domed shape she relaxed back into the pillow.

"Kriff, don't sneak on me like that" – she told the droid.

She didn't get an answer, he just stood there, optic fixated on her and his round body hidden, like he didn't trust her, like she was something he had to figure out. She sat upright rubbing the remaining dizziness from her face and looked back at the droid.

"Is he awake?"

The droid moved his dome head sideways. It was the answer she expected, people who woke up in a strange environment after an accident had a tendency to be loud about it, and the freighter was as silent as it'd been for the last years. She pulled off the blankets and stood up with a final stretch. She quickly put on a white t-shirt with black cargo pants and leather boots. She walked down the corridor, the droid hot on her heels, still giving her a weary look. As expected the rebel pilot was in the same place she left him. She went over the glass dome panel, checking his vitals. Everything seemed ok, so she decided to quickly change the IV and just let him there to start the day as she usually would, but when she turned around she tripped on something. It was his helmet and the plastic bag with his dirty clothes. She exhaled frustrated, she had forgotten completely about it. After so many years alone she pretty much had stablished a routine for herself in Mortis, and today was supposed to be a laundry-free day. She bent over to pick it all up, putting the laundry bag under her left arm and taking a better look at the helmet. She twisted it in her hands, looking for some info on the man. The only useful thing she found was right in the back, written in aurebesh was

"Poe" – she said out loud.

She saw the droid react to the name in her peripheral vision.

"Is that his name?"

This time the droid nodded yes.

"And what's your name?"

 _Beep beep boop._

"BB-8, huh? I'm Allana" – she presented herself.

She set the helmet aside, next to his insignias and his signal flares, before exiting the med bay, going back to the corridor, where she updated the ship's settings for the day. After that she readjusted the laundry bag under her arm and kept walking. She heard the droid talking again as she opened the boarding ramp.

"I'm going to clean this, I'll be in the stream right outside, just scream if you need anything."

The droid looked back, in the direction where his master laid unconscious and beeped at her again.

"He'll be alright, okay? He just needs to rest."

With that she went outside. With her body knowing from muscle memory where she was headed, she allowed herself to isolate inside her own mind. It was a bad habit, really, one she had since she could remember. She figured she could talk more to the droid later, see what happened to them. But first things first. She opened the bag scrunching up her nose – _ugh_ \- and laid the clothes on the floor, she lowered to her knees and drowned everything under the stream's current. The water in this place was amazing. It was drinkable and left your clothes clean and like new with little work. It really worked wonders on personal hygiene too. Her curly hair was always a problem, but here she could just scrub it a little and it would come out clean, soft and shiny. Even the knots were gone, no extra products needed. As much as she wanted out of Mortis, she would miss that particular fact.

Her mind went back to her rebel visitors. There was so much she wanted to know she had no idea where to start. The question that resonated inside her head the most was _why_. Why him? Why now? Why couldn't it stay open? She asked herself all those questions last night, laying on her bunk, staring at the ceiling. She had come up with some conclusions, but nothing that told her how to get out of the realm.

She rinsed the pile of clothes as much as she could, taking a final and apprehensive whiff for good measure. It smelled fresh, thank Kriff. She laid it all out on the rocks to dry and turned around folding the plastic bag, thinking about going back for a towel and taking a morning bath, only to be startled again by a faded silhouette.

"I never took you for a housekeeper."

She recognized the man in front of her right away, and she knew one of the pits in her chest was true. Master Luke was dead.

"What happened?" – She asked him right away.

"Still not one for pleasantries, I see" – he smiled ruefully.

It was slightly weird, she knew it'd been years since she last saw him, and yet he looked younger than back then. He looked exactly as he looked when she was still a kid. When he was in his prime, keeping peace and order in the galaxy, training others to do the same one day.

"You are one with the Force now."

"That I am."

"And Han… He's dead too" – she barely finished with a lump in her throat.

Her former master only nodded.

"How?"

It all sounded so unreal. Han, Leia and Luke were the mighty three. The galaxy heroes. Sure they were human, but they had overcome so much, and now two of them were gone, just like that. She would never reunite with them.

"Always asking the wrong questions."

That was such a Luke thing to say… She wanted to ask what else. What else happened, not long before they died, that violent night that shook Mortis to the core. But she figured that'd be the wrong question too. Master Luke was looking around now, apparently amazed at what laid before his eyes.

"When you disappeared we went out of our way looking for you"- he changed subjects refocusing his attention on her. –"Leia and I, we tried reaching out through the Force. We exhausted ourselves mapping the whole expanse of the galaxy. Every time we came up empty handed our hopes faded away. But not Han"- he smiled again at his friend's memory-."He never gave up. Now, I don't know the exact extent of his crusade in his search for you, knowing him I can only imagine. But I heard he pointed his blaster between Rottas' eyes."

That actually made her eyes pop out in surprise and her chest explode with laughter, and Luke joined her. That was such a Han thing to do, to go and threaten the son and heir of Jabba the Hutt. Their laugher died down eventually, leaving her with a great feeling and tears of joy in the corners of her eyes that soon rolled down the sides of her face in distress. She couldn't remember the last time she laughed, but it was probably with Han, or because of him.

"He was only optimistic about two things: his own skills and yours."

Hearing that she felt a weird mix between pride and being stabbed with a vibro-knife.

"Anyway, as a last resort Leia and I went to Sinkhole Station. We always told you one day you'd get lost, and we feared that day had finally arrived."

This piece of information caught he by surprise. Yes, they always warned her about her mind walking habit and all the possible negative outcomes. And Luke always regarded the Mind Walkers at Sinkhole Station with contempt and referred to them as Mind Drinkers. She remembered like it was yesterday how pissed he was when she convinced Han to take her there to learn from them. Although she always thought it was just his wounded pride acting out. She had rejected his teachings to pursue a career as a smuggler and sought wisdom with a bunch of nutjobs that starved themselves to death.

"They took us Beyond Shadows" – he continued-."But we didn't find you there. Now I see why. This is much worse"- he finished looking around again.

"Why?" – She asked intrigued.

"Beyond Shadows you lose track of time, and the body you left behind can die of malnutrition. Here you don't face than danger, your body is with you" – she played with the idea of listing the other number of dangers she faced in Mortis, but opted for shutting the fuck up-, "but you can't leave unless you're allowed."

"But how?! I searched for the Altar, I found it, I went down there and I'm still here and that stupid thing is closed!"- She pointed at the monolith floating over the Monastery.

Her frustration was showing now not only in her louder voice but also her body language.

"You were at the Altar? Did you ask for something? What did you offer?"

"I went at night, without my goggles. I asked for a way out of here."

She didn't need to add more, Luke and the others knew about her condition and how scared of the dark she always was. As such Luke's face was solemn now, knowing how much of a struggle that was her whole life. For years he tried to help her to no avail and now she overcame her worst fear on her own. Literally on her own. One's worst fear was a serious offering, she'd gone all in with that, that's what made him think something was amiss. The Force wouldn't dismiss something like that.

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean am I sure?

"Are you sure that's what you asked for?"

"Yes!"

"Don't just say yes! Think about it, think it hard!"

She did. She closed her eyes, went back to those dark stairs and the hanging bridge. To the green flames and her disappointment. She remembered crossing the bridge, not even thinking about the possibility of stepping over nothing and falling to her death. She could only think about the reason why she was there, doing the unthinkable. She needed out. She couldn't take it anymore. She was ready to accept herself day and night. She needed a way out. She needed…

"Oh, fuck…"

"What." – Luke asked looking at her intensely.

"A hyperdrive. I asked for a fucking hyperdrive."

Her hands went to her head and she pulled at her hair frustrated. Yes, she'd gone down there searching for a way out of Mortis, but her lasts steps to the Altar her mind wandered to what she'd need to make it out _and_ to the closest station to refuel: a fucking hyperdrive. Hers had been destroyed by mynocks the first week there. Night in Mortis was filled with danger _and_ dangerous creatures, and those fucking parasites had chewed their way into her hyperdrive. They also made a number on other power cables, but nothing she couldn't fix. Except for the hyperdrive. It was done. Dead. Gone. There was nothing she could do with what was left of it, she didn't have a spare one on her, for Kriff's shake! Back then she knew she was stranded in fucking Mortis, but she wouldn't accept it for a while. But even then she knew for sure she was in the Wild Space, and even if the monolith magically opened for her she wouldn't make it alive. She was too far away from anywhere and what was left of fuel could only do so much. For certain distances you need a fucking hyperdrive.

"The pilot…"

She looked back at Luke with wide eyes and her hands still on her head.

"What?"

For once she was having a clarity moment and he sounded dumb.

"A Resistance pilot crashed here yesterday. Well, he didn't crash, I stopped it. But X-wings have hyperdrive motivators… It's not the same but I could manage…"

Her mind was already racing with the possibilities. Sure, it wasn't the same model, but X-wings had four Incom hyperdrive motivators built into the engine nacelles that combined formed a hyperspace jump initiation circuit, equivalent to a hyperdrive with a Class 1 multiplier. Yes. Yes! She could do it! She could make it work!

"You know what to do."- Luke told her with low-key excitement.

"I know what to do."

"Then go. The whole galaxy is waiting"- he turned around, he was done here.

"Wait!"- She stopped him-."Thank you."

She meant that, and he felt it. Maybe it was just the closure they needed with each other.

"And I blame Han. Tell him if you see him."

She added just to lighten up the mood. She was never good managing serious emotions like this. Han always prided himself in not having to rely on anyone else to fix his ship, and often mocked pilots for never having oil in their hands. When he finally accepted her in his ship he was adamant that she learned her way around tools and machinery. He was quick to detect the origin of a breakdown, and he molded her the same way. So she blamed him for her slip.

"I will."

With one last smile over his shoulder Luke vanished completely.

* * *

Luke Skywalker faded into the Force feeling bittersweet about the encounter with the young woman he had considered family. Being one with the Force he finally was able to feel her and reach to her. He was as surprised as elated to find her alive and well. Even with her back to him, all grown up and with her natural red hair instead of the dark dye Leia used to put on her he had recognized her spark right away. It was dimmed and conflicted, but still he could feel its untamed nature ready to strike. It was also grey as ever. Nor light nor darkness. He used to give her a bad time about it, considering it a bad trait. Years later when everything he believed in came falling down he actually ended up agreeing with her in many things. Leave it to the youngsters to give lessons to their masters! He left the realm of Mortis withholding information from her. Crucial information. He had considered telling her about his and Leia's trip to Beyond Shadows and what they found there, of what they saw when they gazed into the Pool of Knowledge. About the Dark Man sitting on the Throne of Balance. About the war. Of how he gave into his fears and failed Ben. Of her role in the future, if she wanted to take it. But he made the conscious decision not to tell her. She never reacted well when people told her what she was supposed to do. And she seemed to be doing a good job –if a slow one…- figuring stuff out on her own. _Always late to the party_ , Leia used to say about her. He prayed this time was different. He prayed he wasn't failing her like he failed Ben. He prayed that she accepted her role in the oncoming future. Because you don't stumble into Mortis, Mortis pulls you in, it does so for a reason. And sure as hell that reason isn't a hyperdrive.

* * *

After her encounter with Luke she felt energized and ready to work. She stripped her clothes and washed herself in the stream as the pilot's flightsuit finished drying. The night before she concluded she needed the guy for some reason, but now it made all the sense. She would finally repair the freighter and they would get the hell out of Mortis. She owed herself, and she owed him. She had dragged him into this mess after all. Luke had said the Altar would give her what she needed, and she stupidly had expected for a solution to all her problems –a hyperdrive in this case- to appear magically over the polished stone. How stupid could she be… After sitting on a rock for a minute to dry out she put back on her clothes, picked up everything and went back to the freighter. She would check back on the pilot, eat something, work on the ship's maintenance and go to sleep ready to work on the hyperdrive the next morning. It was on!

* * *

She was sitting outside the freighter, letting a fish cook over the fire. It was kinda small, but it would do, she still had yesterday's fruits. So many things changed for her since she was stranded. Cooking was one of them. As a smuggler she was always on the run, and even before she started working on her own, Han wasn't a cooker either. They always ate from plastic bags, rarely in cantinas. Even rarer was Chewie hunting something and cooking it. But here she had to try and remember his lessons over the fire. Hunting wasn't that much of a problem, with a blaster or a crossbow it was quick and easy. Skinning an animal and cleaning out its guts was another matter entirely… The first weeks she mostly fed on fruits, but eventually she grew out of her squeamishness.

As she was about to take the first bite the white and orange droid appeared over the ramp screeching and the fish dropped to the floor.

"What the hell is going on?!"- She asked him willing her heartbeat to slow down.

Damn, he had scared her. He was so silent and not leaving his master's side when she returned from her bath, and now she couldn't make any sense from his cries.

 _BEEP BEEP BLOP WHIIIIRL!_

She immediately run inside not liking what she was hearing. She followed the BB-Unit to the med bay, his dome head tilted forward willing his body to roll faster. She stopped short when she reached the med bay not understanding what she was seeing. The droid's uproar sprung her to action again and she pulled up the cocoons control panel. It trembled before her eyes, making it hard for her to read. The guy was having a seizure so bad he was shaking the whole table. She quickly activated more straps to seize him down before he could hurt himself. She didn't understand. He was fine. His levels were fine. She deactivated the cocoon and took a light from a drawer to check his eyes. As she touched his face she recoiled hissing. He was burning. He was fucking burning. And now she was fucking worried. Nobody could burn like that and not die. She went back to the panel and started tapping. It was a risk, but one she had to take. She finished working on the trembling panel and the table moved and transformed into a shallow bathtub filled with cold bacta. She stood back, praying the temperature drop wouldn't kill him. She held her breath and felt BB-8 doing the droid equivalent next to her. Thankfully the seizures slowed down progressively and eventually stopped. She exhaled in relieve, looking back into the panel. She saw his body temperature drop slowly and set it up so the bacta would keep him stable once he reached 37 Celsius.

 _Blooorp._

BB-8 wondered mournfully, and she didn't know how to answer. She knew the first thing that came into her mind when she burned her hand on his face, but she needed some extra information.

"How old is he?"

 _Beep Beep._

"Ok, how long has he been flying?"

This time the droid extended himself, asking if she meant as a professional pilot or as a whole.

"As a whole" – she clarified.

 _Beep blerp._

"Twenty six?" – She whispered thinking she must have misunderstood the droid on that one, but he nodded at her-."You're telling me he learned when he was six years old?"

He nodded again. This was bad…

"Has this happened before?"

The droids optic moved around, as if he was considering if he should respond.

"I need to know, BB-8."

 _Beep Boop Bree Wwrrrp._

Never this bad…

"What kind of pilot is he? Does he exert himself too much? Does he pull stunts that put his body under too much stress? Has he done something crazy as of late?"

BB-8 looked at her and then at him. He let his head hung down with a sad sound. He _knew._ He talked with that sadness again and she herself felt bad for him.

 _He said he was fine_ , he said.

"I'm sure he did."

She didn't need to ask more questions, she already knew what kind of pilot he was: the kind that never gets to retire.

And she already knew what was going to kill him: bloodburn.

 **And that's it for now, working on the next chapter, see you soon!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi sweeties! OMG did you see the leaked set photos of Finn and Poe. It's not much to go with, but _dem_ boys looking good. It's rumored they'll get in trouble in the Hutt Space. I really hope they have more than two minutes of screen time together, I like their dynamic =)**

 **Also, the comics ' _Star Wars: Poe Dameron'_ will end with their 31th issue on September 26th. The issue is described as follows: "In this final chapter of the Poe Dameron series, we see what may be Black Squadron's last mission, as they desperately attempt to find allies for General Leia Organa's decimated Resistance. It's been one heck of a ride, but all stories must come to an end."**

 **Just to make it clear, it's not cancelled, it's just ending. It makes sense, since those comics have followed TFA and TLJ respectively, filling the blanks and giving some extra character development. I guess it gets to a point where they can't make more issues without compromising the next movie. Anyway, I can't wait to read the last issue, it will provide with necessary details for this story, which takes places pretty much between that ending and episode IX. **

**I'll let you to read now! Xoxo**

* * *

Fuck.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

She bumped her head against the wall with each curse.

 _WHIIIIIIRL!_ The droid screeched. She was freaking out, and he was freaking out. She turned around with the palm of her hands up, silently pleading with him to shut up, which he thankfully did. She went back to the bacta tub, putting her hands on both sides and looking at him upside down. Now that his temperature was stable and his oxygen level were better she could see how tan he really was. It was a beautiful skin color, very much in tune with the pitch black curls of his hair. He had thick eyebrows and sharp facial features. His nose was on the big side and his jaw was quite pronounced. It all seemed too much on its own, but somehow it all worked together on him. Now that she actually looked at him her attention was drawn to the silver chain around his neck. She stuck her hand into the bacta and pulled carefully from the chain. She felt a cold light weight on her hand, and she shook the bacta away to take a better look. It was a ring. Simple and cheap looking, like brushed steel, but a ring nonetheless. Her eyelids fell down slightly, heavy with guilt. Was he leaving someone behind? A wife? Kids? A Rebel's life was complicated enough, leaving little to no room for a personal life, but she'd seen it happen. The couples, the families… The pain when the inevitable happened. BB-8 said he was thirty two. With that age he was young, but as a member of the Starfighter Corps it pretty much made him a veteran. She scavenged her memories, trying to place him, but she came up empty handed. Once she got her own freighter she barely stopped anywhere, much less the Resistance base. She was a freelancer, always taking jobs, too busy transporting cargo and getting shot at to make good credits she'd then transfer to the High Command so they could buy more x-wings for flyboys like him to blow up.

"It's bloodburn. There's nothing we can do but pray."

If there's no easy way to say it just say it. She heard that somewhere, and she went with it delivering the news to the loyal droid. Of course he didn't just accept it, and he approached her beeping, demanding her to do something.

"Bloodburn has no cure, ok?! It's chronic, most times terminal. Those affected by it can only be grounded and monitored" – she explained BB-8 as she went mentally over what she knew about the syndrome.

It affected pilots, and it ended their careers. They were forced to retire to avoid physical stress. Diet and very moderate exercise also mitigated the worst symptoms. Being careful and vigilant could help them to live a normal lifespan, but most often the fevers won the battle. There was something else… Hadeira injections? But they were known to cause dependency and sometimes poisoning. Also she didn't have any hadeira serum on her.

"Did he have fevers before?"

 _Bleep._

"For how long?"

 _Whiir wrrp._

She didn't ask anything else. She had the whole picture lying in front of her. He'd been having sudden fevers for months and he hid it. He hid it from his superiors and his comrades. But he couldn't' hide from his droid, so he asked him to not tell anyone.

"What about family? Does he have one? Do they know?"

 _Whoorp beep boop wrp nk._

"And that's it?"

BB-8 nodded. So he wasn't married, and he had no kids. She had asked out of that guilt that flooded her when she saw the ring around his neck. He was here because of her, it was her fault, she had to know and deal with the whole extent of the damage she had caused. Now maybe he wasn't leaving orphans and a widow, but he had a father. That was family. Still enough for her to feel like shit. And speaking of that ring, she unclasped it and left it on the counter with his other things. She didn't want it to get lost if he had another seizure. She didn't need that on her conscience too. The rounded droid thumped twice on her legs getting her attention.

 _Beeep boop bop blewr._

"Look buddy,"- she kneeled in front of him-"there's nothing we can do but wait, okay? This thing is in his blood, you can't just get rid of it."

His cute dome head hung low, and she put a hand over his body, trying to console him. They stayed like that for a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. She was never good at this stuff. She exhaled, looking over his "shoulder", ready to get up and say something to defuse the situation, but something caught her eye on the other side of the room. The fridge. She focused her eyes on the hanging bags hiding behind the reflection of the med bay lights on the glass door.

"It's in his blood…"- she whispered.

BB-8's dome head rose and his optic focused on her, but she was already rummaging through drawers getting what she needed. She found two more IVs, empty blood bags, needles… She put it all over the counter where she could reach it. The droid asked her what she was doing.

"It's not _in_ his blood. It _is_ his blood. That's the problem. It burns, causing the fevers, the seizures and eventually death. Right?"

 _Blep_ , BB-8 agreed.

"So, we _do_ get rid of it."

That made him freak out again, screeching about how humans needed blood to function. She didn't answer him right away, but she opened the fridge and took out the two burgundy bags.

"It's your lucky day, Beebee. Because I'm a universal donor, and I have some extra blood on me" –she moved the blood bags in front of her.

It was an old habit of hers. As she could only receive blood from other universal donors, which weren't that easy to find, she always had some of her own in storage. Her job had a tendency to be that dangerous, after all.

She didn't lose any time and plugged one of the unused IVs to his free arm, connecting the other end to the residue tank bellow the table. She moved the plastic tube willing his blood to flow. And it did. The moment it started coming out she went to the other side, hanging the blood bags up and connecting one of them to the IV he already had on. It was 20 Celsius, enough to not cause a reaction, but she wasn't a doctor, so she couldn't be sure about what she was doing. She held her breath as her storaged blood reached his elbow and made its way inside his bloodstream.

"We take his blood out, and replace it with a healthy one"- she finished explaining.

The droid did something that sounded a lot like an amazed _whoah_ and she smiled at him.

"It's not a permanent fix, blood is constantly renewed and he got this far into the symptoms. The syndrome could still be triggered by stress, but I'm confident we're taking the hard edge off."

They stood there, watching Poe intensely for a while, until BB-8 broke the silence again. Complaining about nothing happening.

"That's good, Beebee. I'm gonna grab something to eat from the galley. We'll need more blood"-she tapped the inner side of her own elbow-."Might as well as eat something while I can. You staying here?"

The droid nodded and she left the room, taking a last look from the door. As she reached the galley she immediately produced a knife and started peeling those yellow luscious fruits she picked the day before. As she ate, she looked at the little cupboard under the chess table that she knew was filled with imperishable food. She felt so tempted, but she decided against it. One of the first decisions she made in Mortis was to never touch that food as long as she had other means to feed herself. She'd need those unsavory foil packages when she was stuck in hyperdrive travel for days, returning home. Home… Where was that again? She looked back down the corridor, in the direction of the med bay. She didn't want to go down that slippery road, and her guests were making a great job of keeping her occupied. She didn't want to admit it, but she'd been really depressed lately, her mind wandering to topics she never wanted to address. But now she didn't have the excuse of the job to run away, so the existential crisis were inevitable. She had so many doubts related to so many things. And yet, if she had to grade the last messy hours of her life, she'd say the balance was positive. She wasn't alone anymore, and it went more smoothly than she would have thought. She had this recurring nightmare, where she got out of Mortis, arrived to the closest pit stop to refuel but she was unable to do so, because she didn't know how. She opened her mouth to ask for fuel and nothing came out of it. Then she realized her voice was not the problem. She had forgotten how to form a proper sentence. No words where coming out of her mouth because her mind couldn't come up with them to begin with. Now here she was, talking to Luke and BB-8. It had come naturally to her. She figured somethings you don't forget just like that. In the beginning she used to talk to herself, commenting out loud everything she did, every little decision. Eventually the habit died down. She couldn't even remember the sound of her own voice. It startled her when she screamed during her last training session. It still sounded weird to her, deeper and more adult than she expected, but she was doing good, she felt positive, she felt… hope. She finished the fruit and opened the mini fridge, poured her daily dose of tea in a glass and drank it in one big gulp before going back to the med bay. She arrived just in time for the first bag of blood to go dry. She hooked him to the second one and started pumping her own blood. She winced as she pricked her own arm, and encouraged the blood to flow opening and closing her fist.

 _Bleep blerp wrrrp porw._

The droid made a good point asking that question. With her free arm she scrolled through all the data the scan collected of him.

"He needs twelve pints of blood. And I haaave…"-she elongated the word as she stepped onto a square metallic platform that would collect the same amount of data from her-"… nine pints."

She expected a difference around those numbers, with him being bigger than her an all.

"I think I can squeeze three out tonight. With those two that's five down, seven to go."

Beebeeate approached her again talking, asking where they could get the rest of the blood and offering to go himself right away. She smiled warmly at the droid. She liked him.

"Would you let me here alone with your master? That's a lot of trust, I could kill him while you're gone you know"- she joked.

And he actually laughed and added a '' _that'd be a waste of blood''_.

"Yes, it would be" – she laughed with him.

She set aside her first bag of blood and started working on the second. Again, she was no doctor, but she was pretty sure losing more than two pints of blood in a go wasn't a good idea. She was a fast healer, always was, perks of being Force sensitive, but this was very different. She was about to bleed herself dry in a matter of days. Sure, her body would renew the lost blood, but she'd never done something like this before, and even with her fast healing she already knew it would take a heavy toll on her. But what other choice did she have? His situation was very delicate, she couldn't add more stress than necessary to his body, she couldn't just take all his blood and not replace it immediately. She couldn't leave the new blood in contact with his to get contaminated beyond repair either. The only option was to strain herself. To push her own limits. She heard the ramp closing and the freighter hum preparing for power saving mode. Another day was ending.

"There's nowhere to go, Beebee. There's no one out there who can help us. We're alone."

She let her words sink in and she could pinpoint the exact moment he came up with the math.

"Don't worry, Beebeeate. We'll figure it out."

She switched bags again, hooking him with the first pint of blood she bled and starting to pump out the third one from her arm. She wouldn't lie, she felt a light weakness in her legs, so she decided to make good use of the stool as she finished for today.

"Oh, by the way, not going out in the middle of the night. The freighter stays closed and sealed."

 _Whrp?_ He inquired.

"You'll see."

* * *

When she woke up the next morning she felt mostly fine, except for that nagging sensation in the back of her mind, telling her she had a terrible nightmare she couldn't remember, but the moment she stood up she got the spins.

"Whoa, okay…" – She perched herself on the wall for a few seconds.

When the floor stopped spinning she pushed herself from the wall and entered her bunk's privy. It was crazy small, just enough for a toilet and a ridiculous sink, like the other two bunks on board. When she modified the freighter years ago she gave up many commodities, like showers, a washing machine or two, dryers, extra bunks, conference room and a passenger cabin. In the beginning, when she was making a name for herself as a smuggler, the extra space for extra cargo was the only way she had to compete for the jobs. All in all, the CS Nomad –as she baptized it- was able to transport twice the cargo any other freighter its size without compromising top speed. She improved engine, thrusters and cooling system, and also installed solar panels. She was especially grateful for that one, it was the only reason she had survived this long. She couldn't drain the fuel she had left just keeping the lights on, and the solar panels made up for that. The Nomad run day and night on the radiation the solar panels processed and transformed into usable energy. She remembered when Han bought it for her fifteen birthday. It wasn't a ship, it was a box of scraps. Most of the fuselage was missing, not to talk about the engine or any other vital pieces. But she loved it, and the opportunity it represented. She hugged Han hard for a long time and he played it cool as always, patting her back uncomfortably and leaving with a _''get to work. And don't come asking for money."_ She spent the next year of her life working on it, gathering the pieces, screwing and unscrewing, welding, hammering and spray painting…It wasn't easy, she was young and her savings consisted of the tips Han gave her for her work aboard the Falcon for two years, but she managed to finish it and pay for the fuel. How did she do it? Bargaining with local merchants and scavenging dumpsters mostly. She also may have flirted with a certain mechanic apprentice of the New Republic to sneak out pieces. Okay, so she actually liked him, but she never took him seriously or think twice about their silly young love, because her priority at the time was her ship and her career. She wasn't that interested in having a boyfriend, she thought there would be plenty of time for that. Then her life ended shortly after her eighteen birthday. Had she matured since then? Hell yeah. Being on your own does that. But every time she looked in the mirror she was painfully aware of how much she had missed too. The clothes that today adjusted nicely and tight around her curves used to be a loose fit, and the baby fat of her face had been replaced by the sharp angles of adulthood. You can't keep track of time in Mortis, but you can keep track of your own reflection. That's how she knew it'd been a very long time. As she got lost in her own reflection and her eyes unfocused her red hair and fair skin were slowly replaced by darkness, until it all became black and chrome.

She gasped violently, ripping her hands off the sink and knocking her back against the opposite wall. As the dark figure had grown in the mirror so had grown the bad feeling that had nagged her when she woke up. What the hell had just happened? What was that? Was it part of the nightmare she couldn't remember from that night? She rubbed her eyes, used to having nightmares, but not to revive them so vividly with her eyes open. Before she could take the time to reflect in what had just happened, or entertain the idea that maybe after all this time in solitude she was going mental, she did what she always did best: run.


End file.
